Holding Out For A Happy Ending
by twistedcommunication
Summary: Alex is waiting for a happy ending that she never expected to get...with Marissa.
1. Chapter 1

A/N :Okay, I had the first line in my head, and I just started writing from that. I'm not really sure about how it turned out, I didn't read over it afterwards. If it sucks I apologise. Some of it's written from personal experience, so if it doesn't fit with the characters, that's why. In other words, it's very AU, including the characterisation. In this part, you is Alex, she is Marissa. Let me know if you think I should continue, and do a few more parts. Oh, and I need a better title. Suggestions are very welcome. And I've rambled enough for today...here's the story.

You remember the first time you heard her sing. She whispered the words this one's for you before the lyrics spilled from her mouth. And that was the first time that you truly felt that you were important, special, even. And you've never loved her more than in those moments where the words seem to come directly from her heart, and it seems like they're meant for you.

You remember that moment as clearly as if it was yesterday, and yet you don't remember the day you met her. At least, you pretend you don't, because you know that she doesn't. You know that the first song you heard her sing was the only one meant for you, and that one spoke of pain, and regret. You know, no matter how much you want it to be true, that all of the other words don't belong to you, and they never will.

You were friends once. You wanted more. She didn't. That was the end of it for both of you. She didn't speak to you again, except to say that you hurt her, and the whole time you were thinking what about me? You hated the fact that you threw your friendship away, and for what? That conversation replayed in your head for days afterwards, and even if you didn't talk to her again, you still listened to her sing, fading into the background so that she wouldn't see you there. No matter how much you were hurting, you still couldn't forget how you felt about her.

She told you so many things that day, and you pretended that she hadn't. She told you how she was happy, and then you ruined it. You wanted to cry until you ran out of tears, even if it took you forever. You never meant to hurt her, but you did. You couldn't forget those words for a long time. Now, though, you can't remember exactly what it was she said, only that her words broke you. You weren't prepared for that.

Sometimes, you look at her, and everything is okay again. Then that moment fades, and you're back to being strangers. Sometimes, she smiles at you, and you want to smile back, but your lips won't curve upwards the way they used to. You look away from her, so you don't have to remember anymore. Apparently she's forgotten. When her eyes meet yours, you can't help but want to apologise, even though you don't think you did anything wrong. You know, though, that she wouldn't care. Your words would be irrelevant. It's been too long, and even though you want to hate her now, you can't. You just want your friend back.

People change; it's how things are supposed to be. You've both changed, and you know you're clinging to something that belongs in the past, but you just can't help it. Sometimes, you'd get to school early, and the only person in the room would be her. The silence was unbearable, and you'd both act like the other wasn't there. The fact that it was all your fault kept echoing in your head, and you couldn't block it out. Her friends were your friends, once. Now they look away from you the same way she used to.

She used to take art, and you wished that you could capture her on paper. That was before you realised that even the most beautiful painting couldn't capture a person the way that they should be expressed. Even when she was covered in paint, you used to think that she looked perfect. You were young, naïve. Now you spend all your time thinking about how nobody, not even her, is perfect. You don't love her anymore. Sometimes you try to kid yourself that you never did. Simply infatuation, you tell yourself, because that way it hurts a little less.

You remember the first time you told someone how you felt about her, and it was such a relief. The friend you told remembers that day differently to you, but it doesn't matter. She's always been there for you anyway. She's the only one who is still friends with both of you, but nobody ever mentions that. Your friend doesn't like it when people talk to people she's sat with, and they ignore her. She said that to you recently, and you told her that that's the way all the people you know treat you. Like you just don't exist, and you wonder why, but you don't get any answers.

You fall asleep while listening to music, because you've come to hate silence. It's your weakness, and you hate feeling like you're weak. All the tearful words that you could have said never made it out of your mouth, and you're sick of choking on everything that you want to say. You wrote it all down once, and you asked your friend to give it to her. You still don't know if those words made it to her, but now you hope they didn't. They were angry words that you never really meant. You just wanted her to hurt the way you did. Or maybe it was that you wanted her to take some responsibility for the way you were feeling.

It's been almost five years. You should have moved on by now. You pretend that you have, but there are still moments where it seems as if you've been transported back in time, and you're still the same scared girl you were when you first started to feel that way about her. Now you're scared of everything, and you wonder if it would have been different if it weren't for her.

You've only seen her cry once, and you can't remember why, only that it wasn't you to comfort her. That was a little while after you told her how you felt. You felt awkward then. You remember the chemistry lessons where you and her and all of your friends used to sit together. The teacher was oblivious, and you used to spend the whole time writing notes to one another. At the end of the lesson, someone would shove the pieces of paper in a crack between the edge of the bench and the cupboard. Sometimes you and your friend wonder if all those notes are still there, hidden in that small gap.

There's no way to know. You kept one note once, and her writing was directed at you. She was joking with you. The piece of paper that had been used before that, though, the one that had been stuffed with the other ones, was the one you really wanted to keep. The one where she told you that it didn't matter how you felt, because your friendship meant a lot to her. She told you that, and then she gradually started to pull away from you. By the end of the school year, she didn't speak to you anymore.

You wanted her to scream at you, maybe. At least do something that made it feel like you still mattered. When she eventually decided it was time to say something, you didn't want to hear it. Your friends pressured you into it. You looked at the floor, and let her hurt you with her words, not pausing once to question what she was telling you. That was in springtime, and she didn't speak to you at all during that summer, or the one after.

Now she talks to you occasionally, when she wants to know something. You never talk about you, or her, or how anyone is feeling. It doesn't matter. You don't pick apart your interactions anymore, the way you sometimes used to. You don't care anymore when she walks past you without a word. The first time she did, you were taken by surprise. It hurt more than you expected. Now it's not important.

She had her friends to make her feel better. You did too, but it wasn't enough. You also had that shiny silver, tinged with red where it had been pressed against tiny droplets of blood. You wanted to blame her for that, but the truth was, it was all about you. You hid your arms away, and sometimes your friends would be suspicious. Long sleeves in hot weather were hard to explain away. Sometimes they'd catch sight of the angry red lines on your arms, and you'd try to explain them, when you knew it was impossible. They worried about you. They don't anymore; you're more careful now.

Your parents wanted you to see a doctor. You finally agreed to it a few weeks ago, and now you're on medication. You laugh at your sister when she jokes about you being crazy, because you don't want to break down in front of everyone, like you do when you're alone. And everything keeps coming back to that one girl. Her actions, her words, were when you first started to fall apart, and you never recovered.

Now it seems like everything you do is wrong. You want her to apologize to you every time that you think about saying something to her. She wouldn't even think of it. She's over everything that happened. After all, it was a long time ago. Just because you're still trapped in the past, doesn't mean that other people are trapped there with you. Especially not her. You can't help but think, though, if you just said everything that needed to be said, then everything would be okay.

You used to write songs, for her, about her. None of them ever turned out right. They were too angry, mostly at yourself, and when you tried to sing, your voice cracked on every other note. Now you write songs that are more abstract. Sometimes when you write it's with her in mind, even if you're not sure why. Those are the songs that you're happiest with, because they're the ones that mean something. They're the ones that reflect you as you intended. They're also the ones you never let anyone see, and you feel guilty for writing them, because you know she wouldn't want you to.

You look at yourself from a distance sometimes, and it's like all you'll ever be is that person who was stupid enough to fall for someone they couldn't have. Now you avert your eyes, and pretend that nothing can hurt you anymore. The truth is, you've never been in as much pain as now, when you've finally allowed yourself to think all those things that you couldn't before. You began to have regrets, and you can't shake them off.

You don't have any classes with her anymore. You haven't for a long time. You find it easier that way. She makes you nervous still, even though there's no reason for you to be. You're over her, but not really. You've always been somewhat of a contradiction, but this doesn't make sense even for you. You just want everything back to the way it used to be. When she laughed at your stupid jokes, and you smiled when she did, and she CARED about you.

She's never seen you cry, and she wouldn't have been the one to comfort you. You cried a lot, over her, though, even if you like to think that she didn't affect you that much. Signs of weakness are something you've never been a fan of, with other people, but especially within yourself.

Yesterday, she looked at you, and she smiled and said hello. You didn't say anything back, but offered her a weak smile in response, all the while wondering why she was even saying anything at all. She hasn't noticed you there when she sings, not once in the last few years, and now she talks to you out of nowhere, even if it is only to offer a simple greeting. You're still trying to tell yourself that it doesn't matter, and the words sound false. It will always matter, no matter how hard you try to pretend that it won't. Maybe it's time that you say everything you need to say to her.


	2. A Different Perspective

To start off with, you is Alex, she is Marissa. Everything in after the break is the other way around.

You know you'll never say what you desperately need to. The truth is that you've forgotten how. Next year is college. She'll be leaving your life for good, and you can't do a thing to stop her. You in Barcelona, her in wherever it is she ends up. You don't even know, and you wish that you did, because that would mean that she told you.  
You're going a long way from home, but that's because you don't think that there's anything here for you anymore. You know that there is, if you would look, but you don't, because you want a completely new start, and to get that you think that you should go.  
Today was a bad day for you. You hardly slept last night, and you couldn't deal with people today. At lunchtime you sat outside, even though it was too cold, just to avoid the people that you see everyday, but especially her. She's always there. So you don't want to be, and you do at the same time. The side that wants to avoid her forever always wins out in the end though.  
The only exception to that is when you go to watch her sing. You just can't stop yourself. Every time, you say to yourself, this time I won't go. This time I don't need to. And somehow you always find yourself blurring into the crowd, watching her like you have for the past five years. Five fucking years. You hate it; you really hate it, that she still has this power over you. When she's singing, you forget, and you smile at the emotion in her voice, imagining that every syllable is for you.  
Tonight she's gonna sing again. Tonight you'll be there again. She'll look at you, without seeing you, and then she'll look down as she finishes singing, and you'll slowly and silently leave through that back door, slipping out into the cold night air. She'll never know that you were there, and that's the way you want it to be. That's the way it has always been.  
You remember the first time she made you smile. All it took was a glance, a brief smile from her. That's all it ever took to make you smile, before you forgot how. You wanted to be near her from the first moment you saw her, even if you weren't sure why. It seems strange when you think about it now; you were so young at the time. Now you're older, but your feelings are the same. You still want to be close to her, and it's those feelings that draw you to her. It's time to let go, you know that, but it's just not happening for you.  
She never smiles anymore. She used to, and once, it was directed at you. Now she always looks so fragile, like she could break any second. Sometimes, when you look at her, you wonder if it was you that did that to her. The thought that it could have been makes your chest hurt, makes you feel physically sick. She was strong, and now she's just withdrawn.  
You know that you hurt her. You do, even if you never told anybody about the guilt that consumed you for so long after you let those words leave the safety of your mind, let them reach her. She didn't react, just got up and walked away, and you tried to forget that you'd ever even spoken to one another.   
Sometimes you catch her in one of those rare moments where she almost looks happy, and you think about how beautiful she looks. You just wish that you could have seen that before. Before it was too late for the two of you to have a chance. Then you smile at her, and try to fool yourself that nothing has changed.  
The things you said to her the day she walked away poured out of your mouth before you could hold them back. They weren't the words you had intended to say, but they came out anyway. Now you can't stop thinking about them, or her. Regretting them, and the way you made her feel.  
You walked past her today, on your way inside, and the look on her face almost broke your heart. She didn't see you there. She looked so sad, and she was alone, and you know that if you hadn't been so damn stupid she wouldn't have been, because she'd still have you.   
You remember the letters she sent you. You didn't read them, you were afraid to. They were locked away in your drawer, and they're still there. You know that reading them wouldn't do you any good. You hate to be hurt, and you know that her words would hurt you. You deserve it, you think to yourself. You still can't bring yourself to open that drawer.  
You remember the first (and only) time that she came to watch you sing. How you sang that song for her, the one that she wrote when she was hurting. You threw her own words back at her. Now every time you sing, you imagine that she's there, watching, like she did that one time. You don't know why she came; you weren't expecting her to after what you'd said to her that day. She could forgive you, so why couldn't you forgive her for something she had no control over? You were weak, you realise, and you were so damn terrified to be yourself that you didn't allow her to be either.  
Imagining her as part of the crowd helps you, for some reason. And sometimes it seems that she really is there, watching, that half smile that was once so familiar visible on her lips. Then your head clears, and the song ends, and she's gone. She's gone, and it feels like a part of you has gone with her. You didn't realise how much she meant to you until it was too late.   
You were afraid to let go of all the things you used to believe in. You still are, and sometimes everything gets too much, and you just break down. You get drunk and sit at that piano singing meaningless lyrics, hollow words. You stagger outside to get some air, and you collapse on the steps. It's the same every time. In the mornings, you wake when it begins to get light, sneak back into the house. Your parents are hardly likely to notice, anyway. They've always been…preoccupied is probably the best way to describe them. They've got their own problems; they don't really pay much attention to you.  
The song that you're singing tonight is for her. You want her to hear it, and you know that she won't, and even if she did, she'd never think that it was about her. You wrote it with her in mind, your forehead creasing in confusion as the words seemed to write themselves. You hadn't thought about her in a while, and it seemed like everything you felt about her came pouring out at once. You hate the song, and you love it at the same time, and you wonder when everything stopped being simple. And you know, it was when she looked into your eyes, and told you that she loved you. Three simple words, and they made everything so damn complicated.   
You didn't know how to react. Hell, you still don't. You're still terrified, exactly the same as five years ago. Five years, and you haven't let go. You wonder why. You know there's no answer to that question though. It just is, like the two of you should have been.


	3. Chapter 3

Marissa POV:

You're on the stage…your stage, and the room is filled with people, and you're getting that feeling of nervousness you always get as you reach for the microphone. You wonder why you always feel so terrified; it isn't like you've never done this before. It still terrifies you every time, though. You know that when you open your mouth, and start to sing that the feelings will disappear, and nothing will matter except for the music.

You raise the microphone to a better height, sit on that piano bench, and you start to play the melody you wrote to go with the song that's for her. You weren't planning on letting anyone hear it, not when you wrote it, at least, but here you are, and you just can't seem to stop yourself. You invested too much of yourself in this to just let it go, as if you never wrote it.

As you begin to sing, you don't think about anything, and it seems like you're floating. You love that you can share this part of yourself with people, that you can affect them with your words. Then you open your eyes, and they fall on her. For a second, it seems like she's the only person in the room, as your eyes meet, and there are tears making tracks on her cheeks, and you did that to her. Then you snap back to the present, but you don't forget that image of her. She never knew that you saw her in that moment; she was looking away, the pain etched all over her face. You wish, now, that you could have stopped that from happening.

And now you're playing your final chord, and the people here love the song, but you're back to hating it. It's too honest, too raw. You feel exposed when you sing it, and it reminds you of her. It reminds you that she's not yours, even though if you'd asked her, she would have been in a second. She would have done anything for you, but what would you have done for her? Nothing, you answer yourself, and you wish you had been the same as her, felt the same as her.

They don't get that this song is about a girl. If she heard it, maybe she'd connect it to the two of you. But she isn't ever going to hear it, so that's not important. It's always about a girl, you've started to think, because what boy has ever consumed you the way that she does? Maybe, though, it's just her, and it's nothing to do with girls, or boys, or how you feel about anyone but her. You like to think of it that way. That way you don't have to label yourself, the way that she has. You've seen it slowly tear her apart, and maybe it's selfish, but you don't want that for yourself.

The people are gone, and you're just about ready to leave too, when the door slams and she's stood in front of you. It's clear from the expression on her face that she didn't expect you to be here. She wordlessly picks up her jacket from the back of the room, not meeting your eyes, and in a second she's gone. You move to the door, but when you look outside, there's nobody there, and then you start to wonder why you're even looking.

That's when you finally realise that she must have listened to you sing tonight. Why else would her jacket be here? You find it strange that you didn't see her, because even though that to most people, she's just another face in the crowd, to you, she has always been in a spotlight. In a room full of people, she's the one that you find. You wonder, suddenly, how many other times she has stood in this room, and listened to you.

She clearly didn't want to be seen. Her reason, you think, is that she believes you don't want her here. And you haven't ever given her a reason to stop believing that, even though you wish that you did.

Your relationships are always, without fail, absolutely disastrous, and that is because you can't help comparing everyone to what you think you and she would have had. You're clinging to a fantasy of what could have been, and sometimes you hate yourself for it. Other times you want to hate her, but the truth is you just can't. You wonder what the lyrics meant to her today. Did she know? Does she know that you can't stop thinking about her? Half of you hopes she does, and the other half has never felt this panicked. What will you do? All you know is you're sick of lying to yourself and everyone around you.

Your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. A long time has passed, but you've been too distracted to notice. Your mum isn't going to be happy. For once, you don't care. This is way more important, you tell yourself. She is way more important. You've finally admitted to yourself that you have feelings for her, and for a moment, the thought is dizzying. You finally allowed all of those hidden feelings to reach the surface, and you've never been so scared. You know that Summer won't care, if you tell her. She didn't care when it was Alex. She'd be happy, probably. She loves both of you; wants both of you to be happy. But she's over you…. she's over you and it's too late to change a thing.

You're uncertain, though. You've always been this way. You can't tell Summer, you decide, but really, you think she already knows. She was here tonight too, after all; just like every other time you've been on that stage. She knows you better than anyone, and you know you don't need to say a word, because that song said everything…it said that she is your everything.

Alex's POV

Just like you told yourself you wouldn't be, you're here, watching the stage as she adjusts her microphone, and sits down at the piano. You remember teaching her to play, sometimes guiding her hands across the keys, and she never once cared about you touching her then. After you told her how you felt, though, she practically recoiled at any contact between you, almost as if she was afraid of you. That saddened you more than anything else she did during that time that your friendship started to crumble into tiny pieces.

She's reaching for the microphone, and she says that she's going to sing something new today. You don't care what she sings, as long as you get to hear her voice, but when she starts to sing, you're taken by surprise. There's more emotion in her voice than you've ever heard from her; than you ever expected to be inside of her. And as you listen to the words, you realise this is the song you've been waiting for. The one where every single word is for you, and you know, without asking, that this song was written for you.

You don't get beyond the second verse; the words are hurting you too much. You know that they are just going to get worse, and you leave quickly, running from the building as if just standing outside it will make you hurt, and you breathe heavily and you wish that she could have just forgotten about you. Yes, you wanted her to sing for you. No, you didn't want what she offered to you in those lyrics.

I wanted you to take back your words, because I didn't feel the same 

_Wanted you to say that everything would work out okay_

_You were in love with me, and I couldn't relate_

_I told you, and I felt like you weren't hearing it_

_Didn't you stop, for a second, to think about me?_

_I can hear your answer in my head, I think about you all the time_

_Those weren't the words I wanted to hear from you, but from him_

You left after that. You don't want to hear about how she would choose you over him any day. You didn't want to hear about how in love with him she had been. You're sitting on a bench, your head in your hands. The moonlight bounces off your watch, and you check the time. You should go home, it's getting late. As you stand up, you realise how cold it has become, and you look around for your jacket, and you are tempted to kick that bench as you realise you left it behind.

The only people there at this time of night should be the staff. At least she won't be there. You walk back there slowly, the streets empty and silent. You open the door, and you let it slam behind you. She turns around and looks at you. You are shocked, but try to hide it, and when you can't take any more of her stare (almost immediately) you avert your eyes, and hurriedly walk over to your jacket, picking it up and making a quick escape.

As you walk around the corner, you hear the door open after you, and you wonder if she's looking for you. Then you dismiss that idea, she would never want to talk to you. Except in her songs, you think, a little bitterly. How can she still do this to you? That's something you've never figured out. You don't know why it had to be her you fell for, you just know that you did, and you fell hard.

And then you hear her voice, calling your name, but you're frozen to this spot. How will you explain the fact that you come to see her sing? You're not supposed to be interested in what she does, not anymore. You taught her piano, and she taught you to dance, and the two things are tangled up with your memories of her, and you prefer your guitar now, and you don't dance anymore. But you can't tell her that. You can't tell her that when you listen to her voice, the only accompaniment her piano, you forget all of that, and she's yours, and you're hers, and you're back in your fantasyland, but you don't care.

So you don't move, you don't move towards her, and you won't let her speak to you. You used to let her talk forever, until she fell asleep talking to you on the phone. You listened to her light breathing, and you let it lull you to sleep, and it was in one of those moments that you realised how much you loved her. You never stopped, and now you can't sleep at night, without her quiet breathing to comfort you.

When you're sure that she's gone, you move from your position leaning against the wall of the club, and you start to walk home. It seems that today is not you day, though, as she steps out in front of you, and the two of you collide violently. You're pushed to the ground, and she lands on top of you, her weight pressing into you. You mutter an apology, dragging yourself to your feet with some difficulty. You hold out a hand to her to help her up without really thinking about what you're doing. She takes it, murmuring thanks. You stand there, just looking at her, for a few long moments, before you shake yourself out of it, and you turn and start to walk away. You feel her hand on your shoulder, but you shrug it off, and keep going. You don't think you could stand hearing more hurtful words from her.


	4. Chapter 4

First part, you is Alex. After , it means the POV has changed. Italics are flashbacks.

Part 4:

When you dream, it's about her. It's always about her. Sometimes the dreams are created by your imagination; sometimes they are memories, always twisted slightly. But not last night. The dream you had last night wasn't a twisted memory, and you know you had it just so that your head could remind you of how much you screwed up, of how you shouldn't have tried to change anything.

The two of you were so happy then, and then everything changed.

_"Come on, Alex, let me teach you."  
" I don't want to learn," you said, biting your lip. You didn't want to disappoint her.  
" Come on, it'll be fun." Then she smiled at you, and any thoughts you had of denying what she wanted were gone. You smiled back, and you said that she could teach you to dance, even though you hated dancing.  
" On one condition," you added.  
" Anything," she said, and you believed her.  
" Let me teach you to play piano."  
And she said yes, and that's how the two of you decided to learn to play piano and dance. She was impatient, she wanted you to start learning straight away, but there wasn't time that day.  
The next day, after school, she walked home with you, talking all the way. You didn't say much, you've never been one for talking. But her, oh she could have talked forever. And you know, without a doubt, you would have let her. You could have listened to her voice forever and a day.  
You arrived at her house, standing slightly awkwardly on the doorstep while she unlocked the front door. She saw you hesitate, turned around and reached for your hand, pulling you lightly into the house. Her hands felt hot against your cold skin, and she looked at you in surprise as she felt how cold you were, and she handed you her sweater without a word. That sweater still sits at the bottom of your wardrobe; you never got a chance to give it back. Actually, the truth is you wanted to keep it, because it reminded you of being near her.  
She led you upstairs, taking you to her room. She motioned for you to sit on the bed while she looked through a stack of CDs for something suitable. When she finally found something she liked, she pulled you to your feet, and led you to the spare room. There was more space there. She stood you in the middle of the room while she plugged a CD player in and you stood there, your arms hanging limply by your sides. She giggled lightly at your stance, telling you to relax. You breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself. Dancing and Marissa weren't the best combination for keeping you relaxed. Lately, you'd found yourself tensing up around her, and you weren't sure how long you'd be able to deal with her presence today.  
The music began to play: a slow song. She said that you should start out slow; she knew how clumsy you could be. Except for when you were surfing, she said. She told you how you looked breathtaking when you surfed, and you felt warm inside. Then she took your hands, and she moved closer to you, and for a second you forgot to breathe._

She'd been teaching you for a while, and so far you hadn't been doing too badly. Until now, when she went one way, and you went the other, and you ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. You both laughed, even though the impact had kinda hurt your chest. You couldn't move, because her weight was pinning you to the floor. Just like yesterday, you thought, only it wasn't funny then.   
She lifted herself off of you, but not completely, and her fingers came into contact with your sides. You giggled, something you didn't do often, and she grinned down at you, and started to tickle you. You've always been extremely ticklish; it's something your friends have used against you on occasion.  
You pushed her hands away, laughing even harder. She laughed with you, told you she didn't realise you were so ticklish. You tried to reach for her sides, but she pinned your hands above your head.  
" Ah-ah," she said warningly. You relaxed completely, taking her by surprise. She let go of you, and you got to your feet. She looked at you amusedly. Your breathing was still uneven due to the amount of laughing you'd been doing. Her skin was flushed and you thought about how beautiful she looked, but you didn't voice your thoughts. Instead, you cleared your throat, and you said, " Ready for that piano lesson? I think we've done enough dancing for today."  
" One more dance?" she asked you, a pleading expression on her face. You almost gave in, but you looked away so you could resist that look.  
" I don't like dancing," you replied.  
" You like dancing with me, though," she said, leaning towards you a little. Your breathing hitched slightly once more. How was it that she couldn't see the way you felt for her? It was written all over you. You shook your head.  
" Not even for you, princess," you said. You'd never called her that before. It had just…slipped out.  
" Princess?" she said. " Hmm, I like it."  
You smiled, relieved that she hadn't read too much into it. She smiled at you, asked if you wanted a drink before her piano lesson. You nodded your head lightly, your mouth was dry. After a brief visit to the kitchen for a drink, you both walked slowly back to your house. 

You've been having trouble sleeping. You can't remember when it started, only that you never had this problem when oyu were still friends with her. Talking on the phone with her before going to sleep had always been comforting, but you didn't realise how comforting it was until you didn't have that comfort anymore. You keep thinking about her. Sometimes the memories are happy, but more ofthen they're sad. They're the things you remember about the end of your frienship, the broken, halting words you threw at her.  
Today, though, you were overcome by one memory in particular: The day she first started to teach you to play the piano. Today, you were sitting at the piano, practising for the night's concert, and all you could think about was her hands on yours, guiding them across the keys.

_You walked to her house in comfortable silence, neither of you feeling that words were necessary. You liked that. With your other friends, these long silences were always uncomfortable, and they were eventually replaced by equally stilted conversation. With her, though, you felt at peace, and you know that she did too. You followed her to the back room, where a paino stood against the wall, her guitars hanging in a wall bracket above it.  
She opened a music book at the first page, a simple melody on the page. You could read music, having taken singing lessons where some knowledge of music theory was necessary, but you weren't entirely sure what to do with it. You told her that, and she just laughed lightly, but not so that you felt you'd said something wrong.  
" That's what I'm here for," she said.  
As you sat at the piano, with her so close you could feel the heat radiating from her body, you realised that the music on the page in front of you was a scale that was familiar to you. She first of all leaned across you, and demonstrated how to play it. You could feel her breath against your skin, she was so close. And now, when you think abou that moment, you wonder why it took you so damn long to realise how you felt about her.  
As you positioned your fingers unsurely on the keys, she gently took your hands and moved them.  
" They need to be there, like that," she whispered softly into your ear. As you clumsily played the scale she had showed you, and then turned to look at her, she smiled reassuringly.  
"Here," she said, placing her hands on top of yours, and guiding them to the correct positions. After going through this process a few times, she left you to do it on your own, and this time, you didn't make any mistakes. She always had been a good teahcher, you thought, remembering the time she taught you to surf. _  
You smile at the memory, a full-blown smile unlike the ones you've been wearing recently. She kept teaching you, every afternoon after school, until you felt like you didn't need her help anymore, and even then, she'd sometimes sit and watch while you practised. She asked you to sing once, but you refused. Her judgement meant more to you than anyone else's, and you were scared to open up to her that way. She didn't ask again, she seemed to understand why you didn't want to. She got her wish eventually though, and you find yourself wishing that you had complied with her original request.  
It was six months before she told you how she felt about you, and you think about that memory a lot, sometimes inserting your own ending, fresh dialogue. It always ends the same though, with her walking away, slipping out of your grasp.

_Her eyes sparkled happily as you laughed at something she said, before the mood changed, and you both became inexplicably serious for a moment.  
" I…um…I need to tell you something," she said haltingly.  
" You can tell me anything," you'd replied, and at the time you meant it. That was before you heard her next words. She said them so quietly you almost didn't catch them, but the sentiment behind her words would have been clear even if she didn't say it out loud.  
" I love you," she said, and for a moment, your world stopped turning. And when it started again, it was spinning too fast, rapidly getting beyond your control.  
I...I have to…go," you stammered out, and you practically ran from that room, not pausing to see the look on her face.  
She called after you, her voice cracking. You didn't stop, not even for a second. The next day at school, you apologised._

" I'm sorry, Alex, but I just don't feel that way about you,"

Those words, how you hate those words. You can't stand to hear them, even when they're placed in a different context. You couldn't respond that day, even though since then, a thousand different responses have run through your mind. You daydream about them sometimes, imagining that everything happened differently.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5:

Alex:

This is the part of the day you hate the most, waking up to realise that those times you were dreaming of are over, and you'll never get them back. Right now, you keep replaying her hand laid on your shoulder; it was the first time she had voluntarily touched you in five years, and part of you wonders what would have happened if you had turned around to speak to her. Would she have had anything to say that you wanted to hear? You doubt that, but you're still curious.

You'll have to see her today, and you're not sure you can handle that. Since her last words to you, not including her whispering your name last night, you've had meaningless encounters, because you're just not willing to risk your heart again. Seeing her today...the possibility of her trying to talk to you, that terrifies you. You see her with her "guy of the week"(you call them that in your head, because a week is all they seem to last), and wonder why they don't stick around. You wonder if it's her, or if it's them. More than anything, though, you still feel jealous of them. Even if you've decided on the surface that you don't want her anymore, deep down you know you do, and you certainly don't want other people to have her. They don't make her happy. You know you could have made her happier; you wouldn't have given her everything. Only you never got the chance.

You wonder what she did with those letters that you wrote her, all that time ago. You don't know why you're thinking about them now, but it suddenly seems important. Maybe she ripped them to shreds without even glancing at the words on the page. You can't remember what it was you wrote to her, but you know it wouldn't have been well received. It was something written while you were hurting, and that means that it probably got expressed as anger. You know it doesn't matter anymore, anyway. You know you told her how she hurt you, because she only thought about herself. Guess you both did a great job of hurting each other, then.

You realise that you've been thinking about things too much, and that you should be getting ready for school. Anything to put off seeing her, though. You know it'll be hard to avoid her; you have some of the same friends. When you talk to those friends, though, she stands in the background, and doesn't say a word. You know that Summer has tried to get her to talk to you, but you don't think she'll be asking that again, considering how you freaked out last time she mentioned it. You're not sure why you freaked out, exactly, only that you weren't ready to try and rebuild a friendship with Marissa. Maybe you just felt that there were too many pieces to put back together, and a little part of you hated her for a long time. You got over that, of course you did, and you still went to watch her sing, no matter how much it hurt when you had to walk out of that place without telling her how proud you were of her.

You're finally ready to leave, so, you grab an apple as you walk through the kitchen, and then slam the front door behind you. You always have to slam that door, because else it won't shut properly. You should have got it fixed, but you've been wrapped up in your own little world for a long time. You decide to walk to school, it's not far, and it means less time before you have to see her.

As soon as you walk into school, you notice her. She's always been the first (and only) girl you notice. Somehow, you can't help but compare them all to her, the her that you remember from when you were friends, and none of them ever even come close to her. She's approaching fast, and you want to turn and run, but there's nowhere to go. She's in front of you now, pushing a strand of her away from her face, and you're mesmerised by that simple action, just for a second. Then you snap out of it, and look at her expectantly. She doesn't say anything, though, just looks confused, and bites her lip nervously. This, of course, draws your eyes to her lips, and you look away quickly. Why you care so much about her getting the wrong idea, you don't know. It's not like you're friends anymore or anything.

"I...um..." The stuttering is kinda cute, you think to yourself, and then shake your head to clear those thoughts.

"Yeah?" you ask, quietly, the way you always ask questions.

"Thanks for coming, last night," she replies, not meeting your eyes.

You're really confused now, you expected her to tell you never to come again, that you make her uncomfortable...but she's thanking you? You frown slightly at her, waiting to see if she's going to say something else, but she doesn't appear to have anything else to say. She turns to walk away, seeing your lack of response, but something seems to take over you, and you call after her.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Nothing," you say. Whatever it was that was in your head, it's gone now, and you don't know what to say to her. She looks down, and barely audible, you hear her whisper, "I miss you."

Marissa:

You wanted to speak to her, so desperately last night. And you thought you had a chance, but she walked away from you. You deserve it, you think to yourself, after the way you walked away from her. You want a chance to make it up to her, though. You want a chance to be her friend again, but you're unbelievably scared that she won't let you. You know, thought, that she's a more forgiving person than you could ever hope to be, and even if you sometimes acted like you were better than her, you know she's a better person, and you wish you could have seen all those little things that you love about her before it was too late.

You take the letters from the drawer. There are only two, and you have the feeling that they're not the kind of letters people write when they expect a reply. More the kind of letters that say goodbye. You know that the words on this page will hurt you, but it's time for you to deal with all this stuff that is going round and round in your head. You unfold the first one slowly. Some of the ink has run and you know she must have been crying as she wrote it.

_I'd tell you I'm sorry, but I'm not. I don't think love is something people should ever be sorry for. What I do know is that I'm going to be more careful with my heart in future, and who I give it to. I say that like I had a choice about how I feel about you, when you and I both know I didn't. This isn't something that gets choices. You on the other hand, you made a choice. I'm not saying I expected you to feel the same way, I know you didn't. But, there are better ways of dealing with things, Marissa. You know that. _

_I know I can't talk about better ways of dealing with things...you know the way I deal with stuff, and I know it's not healthy. But did you even take a second to consider how I felt? Just one second, and that would have been enough for me. But there you were, thinking about yourself. As much as I want to hate you, I can't. I just can't, and I know that is going to ruin me. I know I shocked you...took away that comfort zone that is so important to you...but I trusted you. I trusted you not to do this to me. All I wanted was for you to know how I felt. I didn't want to lose our friendship over this, but it's already gone. And you can blame me all you want, but you know the only thing I'm guilty of is loving you. I know you don't know what that's like, loving someone who doesn't feel the same way...It hurts, but not as much as the fact that you can't even look at me anymore. What I feel doesn't matter, I just want things back to the way they were. _

She's wrong about one thing. You do know how it feels to love someone who doesn't love you back, because, more than anything, seeing those words on that old crumpled piece of paper has made you realise just how crazy you are about her. You know your time has passed. She doesn't love you anymore. Says so in the second letter she wrote you. She finally gets over you, and there you are, realising you're in love with her. You wipe away the tears that have formed in the corner of your eye and are threatening to spill out, and you place the letters carefully back in the drawer, seeing those words in her messy handwriting over and over again. You take a deep breath, determined to get to school and actually speak to her.

You're waiting for her now, sure she usually arrives earlier than this, and then you see her, guitar in one hand, apple in the other. As you walk towards her, she throws the apple towards the nearest bin, and she doesn't miss like you always do. She always used to laugh at you doing that. You're getting distracted again. You stop in front of her. She looks curiously at you.

"I um...I"...damn, you didn't expect her to make you quite this nervous, and you're still not sure what you're doing here, what it is you want to say to her.

"Yeah?" she asks, her voice neutral. Then again, she always sounds that way.

"Thanks for coming last night." When she just looks at you, without responding, you slowly turn to walk away.

"Marissa?"

You wonder if your face is as hopeful as you feel right now. You turn back around to look at her.

"Yeah?"

She looks like she's going to say something, and then changes her mind. "Nothing" becomes the actual response she gives you. Unable, and unwilling to stop yourself, you mutter, "I miss you," avoiding her eyes.


	6. I thought I was a fool for no one

Marissa:

She looks at you, holding your gaze for a few seconds, before she looks down. You imagine she's contemplating the right reply, even though you k now you don't deserve the words that you desperately want to hear her say. When she looks back up at you, though, her eyes are pleading.

"Please don't do this," she says, quietly.

Despite the softness of her tone, the words resound in your head. You don't understand...this pleading expression, those words, they don't fit with any of the scenarios you imagined earlier...hell, you didn't imagine you would have said that to her. You expected anger, though, not this quiet reserve.

Needing some sort of clarification, you say, "Don't do what?"

She just shakes her head.

" Just...don't," she says, turning and walking away.

You reach for her arm to stop her. It hurts when she flinches. You draw back, and let her walk away. You knew this wouldn't be easy, but now you're angry at yourself for not realising just how hard it would be. You don't know what to say to her. You hardly know her anymore, you realise. You decide that you can't deal with being around people today, and spotting Seth as you walk back to your car, you ask him to tell Summer you need to speak to her. He looks confused, like he wants to ask why you're not doing it yourself, but then just nods and wanders off to find her.

You drive aimlessly for a while before heading for the beach. You sit with your arms wrapped around your knees, desperately trying not to cry. You're biting your lip so hard that you can taste that metallic tang that means you're bleeding. You wipe a hand over your lip, staining your fingertip red. You take some paper and a pen from your bag. Maybe you can say what you want to in a letter, even if there is no guarantee she'll read it. After all, it took you nearly five years to read hers.

You chew thoughtfully on the pen, wondering what it is you want to say. You don't even know where to begin. Sighing, you shove the pen and paper back into your bag. You can't deal with all the things that you've done. You spent so much time making her hate you, and now she does, you can't cope with it. No words are ever going to make this better, you realise, and that's why you've given up on the letter. There are so many things you could say, but none of them are good enough.

You get up, brushing the sand from you, and wander slowly along the beach, hoping that it will clear your head, at least a little. A hand on your shoulder startles you and you turn around to see Summer looking at you curiously.

"Something wrong?" she asks softly, knowing that the only time you come to the beach alone is when you need to think things over.

"Not exactly," you reply, not feeling as if you can get into this discussion right now. She sees right through you, though, the way she always does.

" Tell me?" She always does it this way, makes it a question so you don't feel like she's demanding to know. You take a deep breath, sitting back down in the sand and motioning for her to do the same. You almost laugh at the expression on her face, the one that says, "Get sand on my skirt!", but she sits down anyway, to your side so you don't have to look at her when you explain if you don't want to. Looking down at your hands, playing with the sand, you mutter, "It's Alex."

" What happened?" asks Summer, not looking half as surprised as you expected her to. Yeah, she's friends with Alex, but you and Summer never talk about her, not anymore. You wonder if Alex has spoken to her about you lately. You know she did before, but things are different now. Summer is still looking at you expectantly, and you look up, meeting her eyes, and say, " I just...I really miss her." You leave it at that, because you can't untangle all the other feelings that come with that, and you've got no chance of being able to explain them to Summer.

" Talk to her," says Summer, her tone betraying the fact that she doesn't believe you will.

"Tried," you say shortly, looking down at your hands once more.

"You did?" she says, and this time she is surprised.

You nod, and now you can't stop the tears from falling, no matter how hard you try to stop them. Summer doesn't ask you any more questions, instead pulling you towards her, letting you cry into her shoulder. You both sit there for a while, the only sound your harsh breathing that comes with the crying. You pull away from her, wiping the moisture from your face, and make a half hearted attempt at a smile. Summer smiles, comfortingly.

"How can I make her listen?" you ask, your frustration evident.

Summer just shakes her head lightly. "You can't make anybody listen if they don't want to," she replies.

"Talk to her for me?" you ask, expecting her to say no, that this is something you need to do.

"She won't listen," Summer replies. Seeing the expression on your face, she says, "But I'll try."

She stands up, offering her hand to help you up. You get to your feet, and you simply say,

"Thanks Summer."

"Don't thank me yet," she says, smiling at you, and then leading you away from the beach. and back to your car.

"See you back in school?" asks Summer, and you just nod, sliding into your car and waving at her as she does the same. You told her you'd see her back in school, so that's where you head next, knowing that Summer's next class is

one she shares with Alex, and you're eager to find out if there's any way that Alex will give you another chance.

Alex's POV:

You haven't paid attention to a word any of your teachers have said today. You're too caught up in Marissa. Again. As you slide into your usual seat in biology, you look around for Summer. You saw her this morning, and she's usually here before you. She arrives a moment later, out of breath, just as the bell rings.

" Cutting it fine today, aren't you Sum?" you say. You can't resist teasing, it's usually you who's almost late. She smiles at you.

" What, no comeback?" you say. She seems distracted...and more than a little flustered.

"Not today," she says, and then off your confused expression, " I need to talk to you at lunch."

" What's wrong with now?" you ask. "You know I'll do anything to avoid actually listening in this lesson."

"Exactly," replies Summer. "No more distracting for you."

You shrug, going back to doodling on the otherwise blank piece of paper in front of you. You don't make it obvious, but secretly you're really curious. This subject bores you, and you can't wait for the bell to ring so you can get out of here and hear what it is Summer needs to say to you. Finally, the minute hand reaches the 10, and you're free to leave.

You and Summer sit outside in the shade of a tree, her sitting against the trunk and you facing her.

"I talked to Marissa today," she begins. This in itself isn't unusual. Despite the fact that she spends more time with you, especially in school, she does see Marissa a lot.

" Yeah..." you say.

" About you," she continues.

"What about me?"

"Did you know she misses you?"

You just shrug. " So what if she misses me?"

"Don't pretend you don't feel the same way, I know you better than that."

"It doesn't matter," you say.

"Of course it matters. You've got a chance to fix this."

" I didn't break...this, whatever this is," you say, angry now. "It's not mine to fix!"

"Maybe not," says Summer, "But don't you think you should give her a chance to fix it?"

"She's had plenty of chances...why now?"

"Does it matter?"

"Matters to me," you mutter. You mean it, it really does matter to you, because just when you were trying to get over her properly, to have some real closure, everything is about her again.

" Just...try, will you? Let her speak. Let her tell you how she feels?"

"What, like she did?"

"Grudges aren't good on you, Alex. There's nothing wrong with starting over."

"It's just..."

"You never got over her?"

"What makes you think that?" you ask, a little too defensive.

Summer just raises an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to figure that one out," she says. " You want me to send Marissa over now?"

You shake your head. " Not ready. Give me some time."

Summer nods, satisfied that she's gotten through to you.

"You going to watch her tonight?" she asks.

"Yeah," you respond, knowing Summer doesn't need to hear you say it to know that you'll be there.

"Wait for her afterwards, if you feel ready then."

" I will," you say, your mind racing, wondering what the hell you're getting yourself into here.


	7. All the things I wish I'd never said

Alex:

You didn't expect to see her until tonight, but she's here in front of you now, as you exit the school building. You avoid eye contact with her and attempt to walk around her, but she puts out an arm to stop you, looking at you pleadingly.

"Can we talk?" she asks you, hesitant.

"Oh, so NOW you want to talk," you answer, your tone bitter. "Nice timing, Marissa," you continue sarcastically.

She bites her lip. She knows she has no right to expect anything from you.

"So, talk," you say, gesturing for her to speak.

Her eyes widen slightly. She wasn't expecting that, you realise. Maybe she'd thought you'd do all the talking.

"Well? Come on, Marissa. You asked to talk. Surely you have something to say? You sure as hell did last time we "talked"," you prompt.

She looks down. That one got to her, you can tell, even if you can't read her as easily as you used to.

"I'm sorry," she says, barely audible. "You don't understand, it..."

You cut her off sharply. "Understand? I understood perfectly clearly! Every.Single.Word," you emphasise. "And you know, you'd think I would have been angry, but I wasn't. I was just hurt. I mean, I got 6 months of nothing, and then that. And all that stuff before, I thought you meant it, and..." You stop. You're saying too much, being too honest with her. Last time you were honest with her got you nowhere.

"I meant it," she says.

You shake your head. "No you didn't."

"Okay, so maybe I didn't deal with it in the best way..."

"You think? You could have just been honest from the start, you know. Instead of all that bullshit, telling me it didn't matter when it obviously did."

"I really am sorry," she says.

"What makes you think it means anything now?"

"I want it to, I really do."

"Well, all I wanted was for you to talk to me, not act like I didn't exist. And then the one conversation we did have consisted of you ..."

This time she cuts you off. "I know, I know all of that, okay? And there's nothing I regret more than that."

"Doesn't matter now," you say.

"Matters to me," she replies.

You shrug your shoulders. "So? Give me one good reason why I should care about what matters to you."

"I want to make things better, Alex."

"Why? Why now?"

"I've left it too long already."

"Damn right you have. Now excuse me, I have to go," you say, shoving past her down the steps. You don't look back at her.

You sit in your car, your head spinning. You don't trust yourself to drive away just yet. Summer's going to kill you, you think suddenly, a humourless grin crossing your face for a second. You promised her you'd give Marissa a chance, and instead, there you were with all your anger and sarcastic responses. Too defensive, but she just grated on your nerves, and you couldn't stop yourself.

You pick up your phone, intending to call Summer, even if you do like your head being attached to your body. You're supposed to meet her soon anyway; you're going with her tonight. Maybe she can help you sort all of this mess in your head out.

The phone rings a few times, before she picks up.

"Alex, what the hell happened to giving her a chance!" Summer launches right into it. She must have spoken to Marissa already.

"You spoke to Marissa, huh?"

"Didn't need to, heard you for myself," she responds.

"You were listening to us?" you ask indignantly.

"Never mind, of course you were," you continue.

"What?" she replies. "I was just doing my duty as your best friend."

"Didn't realise eavesdropping was now a best friend duty, but okay," you reply.

"Anyway, I need to yell at you some more. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Could we discuss this somewhere not over the phone?" you ask.

"Of course, she replies, "See you in a minute."

You press the end call button without responding, knowing that Summer will also yell at you about never saying goodbye properly on the phone. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, but no, you still get complaining from her every time.

Pulling up outside her house ten minutes later, you see she's already waiting at the door for you. You get out of the car slowly, and walk up the driveway. As soon as you're within touching distance of her, she hits your arm.

"Oww," you exclaim. "Damn, Sum, there's no need to hit!"

"Again, what the hell were you thinking!"

"I was thinking...I was angry. And she was making me angrier, and then..."

"And then you forgot all about the part where you give her a chance to explain how she's feeling."

"Well, she wasn't exactly making a good job of it," you mutter.

"You didn't give her a chance to! Right, we are going to practice this conversation, and you're going to try again tonight."

"No way. We are not practicing this conversation. We're not actors in a play!"

"Certainly not one with a happy ending," Summer says darkly.

"Real people don't get happy endings," you say, walking past her into the house.

"Well no, not if they're as damn cynical as you are," she responds, following you into the house.

"Just being realistic," you shrug. "Play with fire and you get burnt. And listening to Marissa is definitely playing with fire."

"One day I'll get you to listen to me," she says.

"Doubt it, sweetie."

"Well you should listen to me about Marissa. I know stuff."

"Yeah, stuff about what colour's in this season."

"Are you calling me shallow?"

"Yes."

She hits you again.

"What, I'm not allowed to tell the truth now?" you say, slightly indignant. She grins at you.

"Anyway, back to the point," she says.

"There's a point now?"

"Yeah. We have two hours to teach you what to say to Marissa."

"I don't need teaching."

"Yeah you do," she says, grabbing your arm and dragging you towards her room. "Sit," she says when you get there, pushing you onto her bed.

"Right, I'm Marissa, except like a foot shorter," she says, standing in front of you. "Now what is the appropriate way to speak to me?"

"Summer, this is stupid."

"Wrong!" she exclaims. "That is not the appropriate way."

You sigh exasperatedly, knowing there's no way of getting out of this.

"Umm...maybe I apologise for earlier?" you ask.

"That's a good start. Let's hear your apology then."

"I'll deal with it later, Summer; you know planning ahead is no good."

"Yeah, I guess not," she gives in." But if you screw it up again, I am so kicking your ass."

"You mean if you could reach to, right?" you say teasingly.

"Right, that's it!" she says, launching herself at you and tickling your sides. You manage to keep a serious face for all of two seconds before breaking into giggles. She laughs at you, pulling away.

"Right, we need to get ready," she says.

"We have more than an hour," you say.

"Damn Alex, you're such a guy sometimes. Looking good is important."

"I always look good," you say, twirling to demonstrate.

No matter what, spending time with Summer always seems to make you feel better. All the anger from earlier has dissolved, and even though you're as nervous as hell about later, you're having fun right now.

"Thanks, Summer," you say.

"For what? Teaching you about fashion?"

"Um, no. For making me feel better. Well, after hitting me that is."

"Oh my god, you can be nice," she says, her expression one of fake shock.

"But, you're welcome," she says, hugging you quickly.

"Right, which shoes?" she says, holding two pairs up that look pretty much the same to you.

"They're the same," you say, confused.

"No, they're not" she says," See, this strap is different, 'cause...oh, never mind," she says, seeing your blank expression.

"Anyway, what are you wearing?" she then asks.

"This," you say, gesturing at your current outfit.

"But you wore that to school!"

"Do we have to have this conversation every time we go out?"

"Yes. Maybe if I say it enough times you'll give in. Thank god we don't have to wear a uniform anymore; you'd probably be going around dressed in that after school."

"Ugh, no way," you say. "That thing was vile. Skirts and in brown as well. And what was with the tie? Green and yellow stripes on brown? Ew."(A/N, yes, my actual old school uniform.)

"Thank god for sixth form," she says. "Well, you know, apart from all the work."

"At least change your shirt," she says, "I'm sure I've got some of yours here somewhere." She pushes aside some of her clothes, before throwing you a shirt that you've been looking for. You pull off the one you're wearing, and shove it into your bag.

Summer looks highly offended. "Have I taught you nothing? Fold it up!"

You sigh, pulling it back out of your bag, fold it up and return it to its previous position between your Spanish and psychology textbooks.

Summer then throws a make up bag at you. "Reapply," she says. Shaking your head slightly at her, you move towards the mirror.

You then sit around waiting for her to finish getting ready.

"I'm done," she finally announces, 15 minutes after you were due to leave. "You want to drive or shall I? Actually, you can. I'm not letting you get drunk."

"Why not? I mean, come on, I'm finally legal."

"Drink makes you talk without thinking...well, more than usual I mean."

"Fine," you say, grabbing your car keys from their position on Summer's bed before bending down to lace up your shoe.

"Hurry up, we're late," says Summer.

"And who's fault is that?" you grumble, standing back up and leaving the room.

You're supposed to pick Seth up on the way. He's Summer's cousin, but you really don't know him all that well. You see him around school sometimes, but the only subject he takes there is art, so he's not there all that much. Stopping outside his house, Summer phones him, ringing off before he can answer. He comes out of the door still buttoning his shirt up, and slides into the back seat out of breath.

"Last minute getting ready again?" says Summer.

"You know me, I don't move until absolutely necessary."

"Lazy bastard," Summer says.

"Yeah, I know, it's one of my best qualities." he says.

You pull up to the car park, parking haphazardly as usual, and get out of the car, your nervousness becoming prominent again.

Summer places a hand on your arm. "It's gonna be fine," she says.

You smile weakly at her, and walk inside, really wishing you could just get a drink now. Damn Summer and her ideas. You look around, your eyes adjusting to the lower light level, but you can't see Marissa just yet. You tap your foot nervously, impatient for this night to be over with.

"Summer?" you ask, dragging her name out, making it clear you're about to ask her something.

"No, I'm not driving you home so you can drink," she says, not even turning to look at you.

"Please?"

"No," she says firmly.

"Fine," you say, ordering a coke from the bar instead, to give you something to do with your shaking hands. The stage lights up more and you know that she'll appear any second. You resist the urge to fade into the background like you've been doing, and instead sit down next to Summer. Seth is laughing at something she just said, but you don't hear anything. The only thing you're focused on now is her, as she steps into the light.

Marissa:

You've been thinking about Alex ever since your conversation earlier today. You've considered just giving up on her, but deep down you know that's not really an option. She's tearing you apart at the moment, but you're determined to fix what you screwed up so long ago. You've just stepped onto the stage, the familiar nerves overtaking you for a moment. You look towards Summer's usual spot and are surprised to see Alex sitting there with her.

You take the microphone in your left hand, keeping eye contact with her all the time. She's the one to break the gaze, looking down into her glass, but you don't stop looking at her.

You look around the room.

"Before I start, I'd like to say something about this next song. It's...ugh..." your voice cracks slightly. "It's for someone I used to know. I don't deserve to be forgiven but I'd like to try again." You look back to her, meeting her eyes again, and this time she smiles weakly at you. Playing your opening chords, everything fades away but her, and the words that have been in your head ever since you wrote this song.

When it's over you look at her again, but this time she won't meet your eyes, and her face is contemplative. You poured everything you have into that song, but you know there's still no guarantee that it will be enough for her.

"That one was for everything I should have said, and all the things I wish I'd never said," you say, shocked at how much you're opening up in front of all these people.

A while later, your performance is coming to an end, and you thank people for coming before leaving the stage and heading towards Summer. You usually talk to her afterwards, but this time it's different. Alex is with her, and you have no idea what's going to happen next.

"Hey Summer," you say, sliding into the seat opposite her. You then look at Alex. "Hi," you say nervously.

She smiles slightly...well, you think that's the expression she intended, but it looks more like a grimace right now. "Hi," she responds softly.

"Me and Seth here are going to get drinks," Summer says, standing up. She never was one for the subtle.

"Sorry about earlier," you say.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry," she says, looking down at her hands, her fingertips tracing patterns on the table.

"No, you had every right to be," you say.

"Your song earlier...it was...beautiful," she says hesitantly.

"No it wasn't," you say immediately. You honestly don't think that it is. "It's full of ugly things. It could never be beautiful." It is, filled with ugliness that is...it's filled with everything you hate about yourself, everything that you did wrong.

"Did you mean it?" she asks suddenly.

"Every word."

"Well, um, thanks for your honesty."

"About time, huh?" you say, not really knowing how else to respond.

She smiles, genuinely this time. "Yeah, about time," she repeats.

"Can we try again?" you ask.

"I don't trust you," she says.

"I deserve that."

"But, we can try again. Just don't think it's going to be easy."

"I know it's not. Thank you," you say, smiling a little for what feels like the first time in weeks.

She just nods.

"I have to go," you say. "But I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay," she agrees. You can see she's still unsure about this whole "trying again" thing that you've got going, but hopefully you can change her mind. You know you still haven't properly addressed the issue here, and that when you do, it's probably going to lead to an argument. That's the part you're really not looking forward to.

You place a hand lightly on her shoulder as you leave, a small way of showing affection without being too full on straight away. You head to the bar, where Seth and Summer both remain, appearing to be highly amused by something.

"How'd it go?" asks Summer, as soon as you get close enough to hear her.

You smile. "Really good," you say.

She smiles too. "That's great! Talk to you later about it?"

"Yeah," you say, smiling at her once again before hugging her and turning to leave.

"Wait a sec, Marissa, I'll come with you," says Seth, following you outside.

"So, it went well, huh? Do I get details? You know how much I love gossip," he says excitedly, all in one breath.

"So well," you say, just as excited as he is. "We're talking again, and even that's more than I expected. so it's all great."

"Well I'm happy for you. Plus you can finally stop moping over her. I need a favour..." he then says.

"Art project?"

"Art project," he confirms.

"Well as long as I don't have to pose nude," you say.

"As much fun as that sounds, no," he says. "Just posing will do, thanks."

"Sure," you say. "When do you need me?"

"After school tomorrow would be good," he replies.

"Okay," you agree.

"Unless you want to make plans with Alex," he says, slightly teasingly.

"Seth, she only just agreed to talk to me again; I think you're moving a bit far ahead there."

"Maybe a little, but you just be your usual charming self and I'm sure she'll change her mind soon."

"Wow, you admitted someone other than yourself is charming," you say.

"Well, of course, not as charming as me, because, hello, that's like impossible," he says, while making one of the campest gestures you've ever seen.

"So, when are you going to come out of the closet?" you tease.

He just rolls his eyes. "You know I'm all about the ladies. They loooove me. It must be because of my amazing looks, my incredible sense of humour..."

"And your modesty, right?"

"That too," he agrees.

You laugh at him, pushing yourself off the wall where you've been leaning while talking to him, and pull him towards your car.

"I've decided to be nice and not make you walk," you say.

Instead of getting in the car, Seth sprawls across the bonnet, striking a model's pose.

"Seth, last time you did that, someone ran you over!"

"Yeah, I can't believe I'm still friends with that girl," he says, shaking his head. "She almost broke my neck."

"She gave you plenty of warnings."

"Well I didn't expect her to actually carry all the threats out! Sethie is too pretty to be run over."

"Yeah, ok, Seth. Now get in the car, before you get run over by another friend."

He jumps off the bonnet hurriedly, and gets in the car beside you.

Alex:

Marissa just left with Seth, and you're watching Summer as she comes back with drinks.

"Marissa said it went well?" she asks questioningly.

"Yeah," you say, taking a sip of your drink.

"Care to elaborate?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"Not really."

"Well, we're trying again to be friends."

Summer smiles, hugging you unexpectedly, and then says, "That's great!"

"Yeah, I guess," you say, a little unsurely.

"It'll be fine," she says reassuringly.

"I hope so," you reply.

The next day at school, you don't see her in the morning. You overslept in the morning and so got to school late. At break time you head for the common room, wondering if she'll be there. You throw your bag onto a chair, climbing over the back of it to avoid everyone else's stuff that is scattered around the area. You've been sat there for a few minutes when she walks in, looking slightly stressed over something. She sits down opposite, saying hi to you as she does so.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Business studies coursework is stressing me out, but apart from that, I'm good," she responds, looking up from the folder in her hands to smile at you.

"How about you?" she asks.

"I'm good," you tell her. "No more coursework left for me," you say.

"Lucky bitch," she mutters, looking back at the work in front of her before scribbling some notes on a fresh piece of paper.

"I know, it's kind of moving fast and everything, but can we, um, get coffee or something after school," she asks. "I won't keep you long, Seth needs me to pose for his art project later...so..." she stops talking, looking at you nervously.

"Sure," you reply, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

"Great," she says, smiling, her relief obvious. The bell rings then, and you swing your bag over your shoulder, heading for Spanish. "See you at lunch, maybe," you say, as you leave. She nods, becoming engrossed in her coursework once again as you walk out of the door.

As you get outside, you smile happily. So far so good.


End file.
